Clowning Around
by I'm Not Wearing Any Pants
Summary: An army of evil clowns isn't all that entertaining. A bunch of elderly men beating them up with badminton rackets is.


_Steven Seagle said in an interview that the fanbase will be enthralled and livid over who Yuri is._

 _I therefore surmise to you all that Yuri Lowenthal is going to be the voice of reboot Vilgax or the speculative villainous version of Professor Paradox. -_ _VZato_

 _Yo, Pants, can you please post this quote in your profile or in one of your fics? To be forever glorified for the enraged masses if my prediction is correct, lmao. I want to be wrong but I don't think I will be because the direction the reboot is going feels like it purposely wants to make the fans shit themselves in anger. - VZato_

Sure. But if he ends up voicing someone else we get to point and laugh at you for being wrong, forever immortalized in the author notes of one of my shitty parodies.

Ben 10 is the combined property of Man of Action and Cartoon Network. No copyright infringement intended. This episode had its moments. Most being irrational idiocy in the name of humor. Passably entertaining.

* * *

We join our dysfunctionalized family of wannabe heroes on their never ending summer vacation at good old State U, Grandpa Max's former college. A place filled with inebriated football jocks and tons of sports based corporate consumerism. Everyone's favorite pastime.

"Whoa, these are my kinda people," Ben gushed over the drunken frat boys doing bare-chested belly bumps in the parking lot during the pre-game tailgating event.

Grandpa Max threw a giant plate of sausages onto the grill. Normal every day sausages. Brats, if you prefer. Or wursts. How unbearably average.

"I now cook and consume more normal foods unlike in the previous series. Occasionally, I am seen cooking and consuming the weird stuff I'm known for in this very reboot. That makes me more like the old Grandpa Max you know and love though I've disappointingly been nothing like him so far." He waved his grilling fork in the air. "College is great. I'm talking about an idealized version of it like when I was growing up in the 60s. Only more cartoonish and child-friendly. Our hazing and pranks would have been far less dangerous than the real life ones you hear about with people dying."

Gwen glanced up from her magazine. "Seems like most people go to college to horse around, get drunk, and have loads of unprotected sex. Obviously you didn't do that in college, right, Grandpa? You spent all your time studying and being a good role model, completely desexualized, nonthreatening, free of all the poisonous mainstream tropes of toxic masculinity, and no beliefs outside socially acceptable societal standards. Right?" She stared at him with her childishly innocent naivety, smiling.

Grandpa Max's eyes darted back and forth. "Ah. Of course I didn't, Gwen. I am a good role model. Who studied a lot. And never touched an ounce of alcohol in my life." He looked to one side and whispered, "Or a breast. Or penis." He coughed into his hand. "Anyway, the most fun I had in college was on the playing field. If you think I'm going to reveal I was a great football player, guess again."

"What sport did you play?" Ben asked. "Please tell me it was something manly awesome, not something totally lame wussy that will make me lose all former respect for you."

"Badminton!"

Ben developed a whuh face of epic proportions. "Aw, come on, it's got BAD right in the name!"

"What's badminton, Grandpa?" Gwen asked instead of Googling it like a normal person.

Ben grabbed the phone away before she could place her hand on it anyhow.

"Google is your friend," Grandpa Max said. "It's the most ferocious sport in existence."

Ben frowned, setting down the phone. Once again, Google brought him nothing but informative disappointment. "That's the lamest thing in the world. It's not even a real sport! Disillusionment!"

"It's the greatest sport," said Grandpa Max. He produced a racket out of thin air and did some sick tricks with it. "When you don't play it the way it's meant to be played. My team were the greatest players in the history of ever. Too bad you don't get to see us in our youth in a photo or flashback or anything. Not enough time for that. But we rocked, let me assure you. Take my word for it because it's all I have for right now."

"I doubt the rationale of the words coming from your mouth, old man," said Ben, pouting the hardest pout of disappointment he'd pouted for a while.

"It's true. We were called the Fabulous Four," said a trio of elderly male voices in chorus.

Behold, these characters from Max's past with seemingly budding potential for further characterization will likely be forgotten as with all the rest of newly introduced characters in this show.

There stood three of his old college badminton buddies, Lester, Harry, and Bruce. Otherwise known as The Tall One, Short-Fat, and Ambiguously Brown.

"It's like time stood still. For me, not you guys," said Grandpa Max. "I am the best aged of the group in spite of my poor diet and severely failing characterization."

"I got knee implants," said Lester. "And a fanny pack."

"I can see without opening my eyes," said Bruce. "Also forgot where my dentures went." He displayed his disgusting wet gums, frightening the children in the audience, thereby further reducing ratings. "Brush your teeth, kids. Or this will be your future as well, hahahahaha! Wheeze."

"Wait," Ben said, throwing his arms into the air. "Okay, you have a reboot designed to cater more toward the younger child ages 4-8 demographic, then make an episode glorifying a bunch of old geezers? Where exactly are we going with this?"

"Yeah, Grandpa. Wouldn't that be a heavy blow to audience interest during a time where ratings are crucial?" Gwen asked. She tapped a finger to her chin in thought before raising it into the air. "Oh! Unless maybe it'll teach the kids that old people are capable of doing amazing things. In cartoons. Not in real life. They just break their hips and die of heart attacks in real life."

"Badminton is awesome," the old fogies cheered as they all held rackets they pulled from nowhere. "Go, Wolves!"

"Outta here." Ben grabbed Gwen by the arm, whisking her out of her lawn chair. "Time to do something that doesn't involve crazy old guys who think badminton is a contact sport."

"Ooh! Another exciting 10 minute adventure! Maybe we'll inevitably get attacked by an evil gang of clowns doing a far less scary version of Last Laugh," Gwen said with a hopeful smile.

"And maybe you'll get turned into a useless side character once again regulated to sitting on the bench cheering while the guys get to be the real heroes," said Ben.

Gwen's hopeful smile crumbled upon the depressing realization there was a 99% chance Ben would be right.

Hint: HE WAS.

"NO!" Gwen yelled. "Not again!"

Ben and Gwen paused near the street. They caught the tail end of a bizarre parade. It was full of clowns. These were no ordinary happy fun time clowns. They were unsettling ominous clowns. Evil clowns, you might say.

The leader of the group was none other than a cutesy nonthreatening version of everyone's favorite one-hit wonder from the OS, Zombozo. Now equipped with a small aesthetically matching clown car to ride. And a big old parade float created in the image of his giant head that's certainly not got a missile hidden inside it. Spoilers, el oh el. Everyone saw this episode a year ago.

A deafening ruckus of horns and various annoying clowny noises erupted as they made their way down the road, mugging for the crowd of dead-eyed stationary onlookers lined up to provide the illusion that there's a living, breathing world of other human beings in this show. It fails every time because the background characters, much like the backgrounds, are dull and lifeless. Tragic.

"My face matches the way I feel inside," said a random background character. "Soulless and apathetic." They fell down like a cardboard cutout.

Some of the background characters were cardboard cutouts. They blew away in the wind.

"Ew, clowns. I used to be scared of those in the OS. They made me scared of squids and squid-like objects in this series. How convenient when I have an impending squid-faced alien nemesis to battle in my future," Ben said with audible irritation. "Good thing Vilgax won't show up for ages and Steam Smythe already gave me my first dose of manufactured squid terror to get used to it. I still hate clowns. They're evil. BAN THE CLOWNS!"

Zombozo caught the scent of vulnerable innocent children in the air. He immediately swerved, pulling up beside them, honking his horn in a harassing manner. Ben and Gwen flinched.

"Oooooh, kiddies! How are you today? Enjoying the fresh air? The fact that I've been depowered of my former supernatural abilities of emotional vampirism and Jokeresque psychologically menacing comedic evil? Lucky you." Zombozo grinned, showing off his new set of razor sharp fangs. "It's the only fear-inducing aesthetic thing they provided me. Everyone has these in this show, so it doesn't make me all that special. But I enjoy them. I do a lot of smiling anyhow." He's also got more demonic looking eyes instead of the old yellow. Woo, scary. Not. Eh, it looks okay. "Watch the toyline miss my potential by not making me into a figure! Because it's so pathetically small and won't sell very well outside Asia! Bwahahaheehehehehehooohooo!"

"Whoa, your chin is huge," Ben mumbled. "Huuuuuuuuuge!" OV Kevin got nothin' on that. "You could land a plane on that thing."

"I'm making vague hints to my crime to come through my own tiresome puns, heh hehehehehehahahah ho ho! Maniacal laughter. Well. See you at the climactic end battle," Zombozo said before driving off.

Ben and Gwen stood there for a few minutes.

"That was more than a little unsettling," said Gwen.

Ben glared at Zombozo and his disappointingly generic criminal clown gang as they vanished into the distance. "Yeah. I have the foreboding feeling they're gonna do something that will end with me issuing a good ol' fashioned alien beat down." He pounded his fist into his rubbery cartoon palm, eager for some TV-Y7 violence. "Hopefully, 'cause I can't wait to do it. Stupid clowns!"

"Let's go to the Geology department and laugh at their unfunny pun sign," Gwen suggested.

"I have a better idea. I leave you to rot in obscurity while I go be the center focus of the show. And continue to abuse my powers in public."

"Wha-"

"TOO LATE, SCENE TRANSITION," Ben yelled.

And Gwen was gone. Shoved out of the plot once again.

Ben noticed some college fratbros preparing to soak their sleeping fellow bro in buckets of ice cold water. "Oh boy! Comical mischief at the expense of another human being's safety and comfort!"

Salivating with devious intent, he ran toward them.

"His balls are gonna be in his throat when he wakes up," said one of the nameless background bros.

"It was his own fault for falling asleep in the open like this," said another. "Never fall asleep in public in a college. That's asking for trouble."

They all laughed.

"Close up on my cartoonified pug-nosed baby face as I relate to the children of this generation by saying outdated buzzwords like EPIC and and AWESOMESAUCE repeatedly," said Ben. "Check out my Twitter. IT'S EPIC! Viral videos, online streaming, download our app, additional charges may apply, wooo-hoo!"

He became Overflow, letting loose with a tidal wave of torrential torment that washed all the fratbros away.

"Now that was an EPIC PRANK," said Overflow, pumping his fists in the air. He raised a palm. "Hi-five, bros!"

Everyone in the vicinity was too injured by the crushing water pressure to move. They were scattered about, either groaning on the grass or up against the nearby tree. One was up in the tree, hanging precariously on a branch. Ouch.

"Gimmie some skin? No? Up top? Is that what you guys call it now? C'mon, guys! Up top! Don't leave me hangin'."

"You giant water-filled dickhead! You could've killed us all," said one of the injured fratbros. "What are you doing blasting high pressure water from your fat stupid alien arms at us like that? We were gonna dump a few buckets of water on this guy. Then you butted in and ruined it."

"Yeah, you took it way too far," said another. "I think I threw my back out."

"One guy is hanging from the tree," said another, gesturing frantically to the young man caught in the tree. "I repeat: HE IS IN THE TREE! That is how hard the water hit us."

"You're a big jerk, random water powered alien lookin' guy who was a stupid pug-nosed kid like two minutes ago. Did anyone else see this kid transform into a big fat alien water gun? I am so baked right now."

"This is college. We're sophisticated!" whined one fratbro. "I can't believe that was an actual line of dialogue somebody in the writing room wanted to be taken seriously." Maybe they didn't. Maybe that's the joke. Like college these days. "Our brand of humor is on a level that can never be grasped by an immature 10 year old! By the way, I'm Very Triggered by constructive criticism of my narrow personal worldview which I apply to concepts outside by understanding, falsely assuming they're the default of the universe thanks to my pampered and pretentious helicoptered suburban upbringing. Anything that makes me slightly uncomfortable should be removed from the public space so I'm not forced to grin and bear it like the rest of the humbled lower class society who have real problems to deal with in their miserable lives. My dad owns a dealership!"

Ben reverted. "Hey, I'm 10 and I act a lot less mature in this reboot. So sue me. I also say EPIC a lot. Possibly too much. That gets annoying fast. EPICALLY ANNOYING!" He threw his head back and let out a snorting laugh. He frowned, looking suddenly confused. "What was I talking about?"

"Uh, how much you're an obnoxious twerp who abuses his freaky alien transformation powers for stupid reasons that aren't funny unlike in the older parts of the franchise and you never get most of the sincere morals that went with them that helped you learn not to be a dumb jackass everyone started to dislike after a short while," said a bro.

"And your art style is poorly shaded and unsightly, even for ages 4-8. Omniverse looks like an artistic masterpiece in comparison. In short, you suck," said yet another.

"You epically suck. C'mon, guys. We're outta here," said one last generic bro. "We don't need to be associated with this lazy and obvious marketing attempt to milk what's left of a former cash cow franchise. They don't properly utilize background characters anyway! What do we even contribute to this show? Nothing! It makes me feel bad about myself! I don't like feeling bad about myself! Now if you'll excuse me, I am emotionally distraught by this incident and have to get to the nearest designated Safe Space."

One dropped his bucket, grabbing his hideous face. "WHY DO SOME OF US LOOK LIKE REJECTED FAMILY GUY CHARACTER MODELS? WHYYYY?" He burst into tears and ran away in shame.

"Call us when the Kid's Network Animation Budget Dark Ages dies," said the final bro.

Everyone left the scene, some limping away while the others dragged their unconscious friends to the closest available medical treatment facility.

"Well, I thought it was funny," Ben asserted, hands on hips. "And I'm sure the target demographic of boys age 4-8 will too."

He gave an angry sigh and walked off to further vent about no one understanding his brilliant new hip and fresh take at humor.

"It's not my fault people being hurt for the sake of stupid slapstick are what the lowest common denominator finds funny in a TV show these days. We used to have decent writing, plot, drama, action, character development, all that good stuff." He kicked a rock. "Now we're drowning in fart jokes and old memes. What happened to us as a society?"

The continual diminishment of critical thought leading to the ever consistent dumbing down of media and promoting incessant over consumption of pop culture fueled by corporate greed.

"No, it's all Teen Titan's Go!'s fault," Ben yelled. He kicked a bigger rock. It sailed through the air and broke through somebody's windshield. "Uh oh." Ben ran before anyone noticed him.

He took refuge behind some cars and was startled by the sudden but familiar sound of irritating honks. The entire gang of clowns from the parade was there, standing in the parking lot. Doing stuff. Suspicious stuff. Ben ducked behind a cardboard tree.

"Not those asshole clowns from before. How I hate them." He squinted.

The group was armed with air compression guns loaded with neon pink balls full of some kind of noxious gas. One almost dropped a gas ball for the sake of the plot.

Zombozo made an appearance in the scene to harshly chastise his discount henchman's intolerable stupidity.

"They only set up this scene up to explain that, yes, the clowns being lead by moi, the far less frightening Zombozo, are planning to do something far less evil than Last Laugh. It involves gassing the entire stadium into submission and robbing them," said Zombozo. "Of their money and valuables. Not their happiness, sanity, or life force. Booooooooo! Laaaame!"

Booooo, lame. Stop reducing every villain on this show to a petty thief with a gimmick that vaguely mimics their old one from the OS but in a far less entertaining way.

"Sure sucks they took away everything that make you interesting from the old series, eh, boss?" said the only named clown of the group who also had a canonical speaking role, ironically the one with the least screen time, Artie.

"Yes, Artie," Zombozo said to the juggling purple clown. "It's not as bad as your character existing for the sake of demonstrating the effects of my trance gas and also to temporarily disable the eavesdropping idiot hero boy hiding behind that badly painted cardboard cutout tree there. You guys' character designs are about as cheap as what I paid to hire you all. You bunch of illiterate twits, you."

Zombozo walked over and smacked one of the balls out of its trajectory into Artie's face to hurry things along. It exploded, releasing the gas cloud.

"Cough," said Artie. "Oh, this stuff really burns the eyes."

"Too bad the frat brats from that previous scene will come along and dump water on the kid, thereby demonstrating how to nullify the effects of the gas, freeing him from my control," Zombozo said. "Or we'd have gotten away with this crime easily. Curse those pre-established plot contrivances set up to make the villain of the day fail within a 10 minute time limit."

"I am now a mindless zombie who will obediently take orders," said Artie in a monotone voice. "I think I am also blind in my left eye. Hopefully it is temporary."

"I'd tell you to kill yourself, but that wouldn't be Kosher for the current age demographic. Meanwhile, other shows on other networks get to indulge in drama with real life complexities over the course of three to five seasons like the good ol' days." Zombozo shook his fist at the sky. "Damn you, Teen Titans Go!" He pointed to the tree. "Go over there and become irrelevant to the plot beyond this point, Artie. Also make sure one of those gas balls falls out of your hand and hits the kid."

"Yes, Zombozo," Artie muttered in the traditional flat monotone of hypnotization. He began to zombie-walk to the tree, slowly. Very slowly. Too slowly.

"Oh, hell. Never mind. I'll do it myself."

Zombozo speed-walked over, took the gas ball, and threw it behind the tree. Ben coughed, entranced by the gas.

"Now hurry up, everyone. We've got a stadium to get to. Then we get to battle an ugly kid who turns into 10 aliens reinvented to be less scary and inhuman for the delicate flowers of today's generation before our inevitable fifteen second defeat. Where we'll be forgotten for the next handful of Villains of the Week!"

Putting on the grumpiest face a clown ever had, he jumped into his comically undersized car and revved the engine.

The rest of his insane clown posse crammed into the sillier looking clown car with a goofy hat on top in another funny moment, only because of the look on Zombozo's face while waiting for them to finish up their stupid sight gag. It is the cringe-filled side-eyed look we all share while watching this show. Oh, and there was a cute little circus dog wearing a hat we didn't see anywhere until this moment. It doesn't show up anywhere outside this scene. Enjoy it while you can.

"Her name is Cupcakes," said one of the nameless clowns who didn't have any lines of dialogue in the actual episode before closing the door.

They drove off in a zig-zag pattern with a series of irritating honks.

Meanwhile, back at the State U Stadium, or the Wolf Den as it's known colloquially.

An entire football stadium of people had been reduced to paint blobs for the sake of animation constraints. Meaning a handful of background characters in the focus and a bunch of red muddied blobs where the out of focus characters would be if they had the money. The unfortunately colored red-brown splatter gave this odd impression something horrific happened in the background which nobody cared to acknowledge. Perhaps that's for the better.

"The budget for this show must have gone into hiring a couple big name writers who did the few decent episodes and the rest of the returning voice actors," said Gwen, finally appearing in the story again.

Grandpa Max and his buddies were stuffing their faces with economy sized snack foods as she walked up and took a seat beside her disconcertingly off model grandpa.

"I wonder what Ben's been doing this whole time I was stranded out in female cartoon character limbo. I mean, the school of Geology. Yay, rocks and minerals. Steven Universe and its unruly fans." Gwen forced a pained smile.

Grandpa Max shoved a handful of nachos into his mouth. "Good thing I got stuck here watching a football game with my friends, eating a gigantic tray of infinitely replenishing nachos. Not so bad. Oh, nice to see you again, Gwen."

Gwen grunted noncommittally, waving her hand.

Zombozo and his clown minions scampered onto the field. Almost looked like one of them crashed into Zombozo's car before the scene transition with the trajectory both of them were on.

Animation is our passion.

Just kidding, this got outsourced to three different Korean studios and sent back seven times.

Zombozo drove around waving to the crowd, honking his annoying car horn. "Caper and cavort harder, you fools. We've got to sell this."

"Ew, the creepy clown from earlier," said Gwen. "Thank goodness I'm not relevant enough to the plot to establish an ongoing antagonism between us, or me and Hex for that matter, and Charmcaster hasn't even been introduced yet. Also he lacks terrifying supernatural powers of draining happiness from innocent human beings to sustain himself with. Guess he's some random jerk in clown makeup who's been reduced to yet another petty thief with a themed gimmick like most of the other villains in this show. Sad, really." She turned to Grandpa Max. "You know? To see a character COMPLETELY LOSE THEIR POTENTIAL ON THIS REBOOT? BY HAVING ALL THE TRAITS THAT GAVE THEM THEIR BEST QUALITIES THE FANS HAVE COME TO KNOW AND LOVE THEM FOR COMPLETELY REMOVED?" she yelled through her hands.

"Hmm? What'd you say, Gwen?" Grandpa Max said over his loud nacho munching.

Gwen sighed angrily, resting her chin in her palm. "Never mind."

"It's 4 minutes and 47 seconds in," said Zombozo, riding into the middle of the field on his cute accessory car. "Time to jeopardize some innocents. Ignore that I'm driving in this scene without touching the steering wheel. It's not another glaring animation error. I'm just that good." He made jazz hands.

God help us if someone goes through the effort of creating a Ben 10 2016 Animation errors archive blog.

The clown gang fired the gas filled bombs into the crowd using their various innocent looking clown themed weaponized methods. In a few short moments, the stadium's cacophony fell to silence.

Zombozo whipped out a large bullhorn from his clowny hammerspace. "I hope you've enjoyed being hit in the face by my balls. Now tell me what dirty little skanks you are. Ha ha, but seriously, folks. Tell me you'll do exactly what I say from this point onward, my mindless slaves."

"You'll do exactly what I say from this point onward, my mindless slaves," said the crowd.

Zombozo frowned. "No, No. I mean say that you'll do what Zombozo says from this point onward."

"No, no, I mean say that you'll do what Zombozo says from this point onward," said the crowd.

"Don't repeat back what I say in your hypnotized stupor, you morons! That's not funny! That's just aggravating!"

"Don't repeat back what I say in your hypnotized stupor, you morons. That's not funny. That's just aggravating."

Zombozo slapped his face before running the hand down to his chin, grumbling incoherently.

"This is one of those things that gets dumber the longer it goes on," he said before the gag got older than it already was. "Look, we'll make it simple. Just throw me all your valuables and then hit yourselves in the face with the nearest blunt object."

Wallets, heavy purses, jewelry, and various valuable objects turned projectile rained down onto Zombozo's big fat head.

"Damn, I should've told them to throw them somewhere else," he yelped, shielding himself with his arms while escaping to safer ground. "Why do these people have the same generic brown wallet? It's like they were already an unquestioning singular hive mind before I physically took away their ability to use their brains with this gas. Ha, that's college for you. Ba-dum-tish!"

Clone tool is our passion.

Meanwhile, in what's left of the remaining unfulfilled plot.

Ben was still out of it, standing by the poorly drawn cardboard tree, motionless without a given command from Zombozo to follow.

The fratbros walked by. Some of them were on crutches. All of them carried grudges.

"Oh, look who it is! The little jackass troll who turns into a bigger and uglier alien douchewad and ruins everybody's harmless fun."

"Hey, let's ruin his life!"

They pulled out some firecrackers and were about to stuff them in Ben's pants when one of them shouted "No, wait!" to the startled attention of the other fratbros. "My fellow bros. If we play such a nasty prank on this youthful moron, we'd only be lowering ourselves to his level of crude comical violence. We should try and keep within the family-friendly G rating of the canon by instead dumping our huge generic unlabeled similar water bottles onto his head."

So they did.

The fratbros walked away laughing with smug satisfaction though deep down inside they craved blood like all collage age American males and seeing Ben's ass get blown off would have been much funnier. Let's face it, half the audience wanted to see that happen.

Accidentally freed from the effects of the gas by the plot, Ben came to his senses in time to realize he had to get to the stadium and stop Zomboso's plan to gas everyone. Only that already happened about 4 minutes ago so too late.

"Whatever. I can maybe prevent him from getting too far away while showing off the favorite go-to alien, sexy bishonen gijinka Stinkfly." He became that alien without a hitch and flew toward the stadium. "I'm gonna promote me some toy saaaaaaaaales, boiiiiiiiii!"

Overseas.

Zombozo's clown gang finished sucking up the remaining pile of wallets in a giant fucking vacuum cleaner that they had with them. Don't question it.

"It's comedy," said the clown with the fucking giant vacuum cleaner. "Trust me, I have a bachelor's degree in Clown Science."

"Time to exit, stage left." Zombozo turned his car in preparation to leave the scene when Stinkfly landed in front of him, cutting his flawless escape short. Zombozo scrutinized the hot mess in front of him. "What the heck are you supposed to be?"

"I'm Stinkfly."

Zombozo wrinkled the area of skin around his bulbous black nose in disgust. "Yikes. And I thought my redesign was poorly conceived. Were you born with those teeth or did a firecracker go off in your mouth?" He slammed his oversized clown shoe on the gas pedal and tried to run down the big blue bug.

"Stinkfly always had freaky zipper teeth, you insufferable critic! By the way, did you forget I can fly with this alien?" Stinkfly said, popping up in the air. "I can also do this, but not with my eyes anymore." He fired some stink goo from his freaky alien nipple ducts. "There's gonna be so much Rule 34 of me!" Stinkfly licked his lips wetly. Everyone in the audience barfed up their previous meal. "Well, it's true."

Zombozo avoided the impending assault, leaving one of his hapless henches to get hit instead.

"UGH, SMELLS LIKE A CENTURY EGG MIXED WITH A DOG'S ANAL GLANDS AND A TOUCH OF RAW SEWAGE," the expendable clown gasped before passing out.

The only female clown in the group which Tara Strong voiced in what we'll call a poor man's chain smoking Harley Quin voice opened fire on Stinkfly with a gas bomb bazooka. The bomb exploded in mid-air thanks to the force from Stinkfly's rapid wing speed, causing the gas to blow back in her face. It made her cough but nothing else. So why isn't the gas putting the clowns into trances like it did the rest of the crowd? And Artie.

"Please ignore the numerous inconsistencies for your own sanity," said Stinkfly as he shot some rancid sludge into her face. "Also please ignore my half-assed puns. They're really fucking bad."

I can't tell if the writing is this bad by accident or they assumed making it deliberately bad would get them higher ratings since terrible shows seem to do so well these days. As deeply as I love Ben 10, there has never been, as they say, so much cringe. Some of the writing put into these episodes is so awful. C'mon, guys. 4-8 year olds are not that stupid they can't tell bad writing when they encounter it. Well, some are. But not all.

Zombozo took advantage of Stinkfly's self-absorbed tendency to laugh at his own horrid puns and fired a blast of Laffy Taffy at him, binding his wings together. The enemy dropped like a particularly annoying rock.

"Jokes on you, laughing boy," Zombozo said, punctuated with a peal of smug villainous cackling. "In lieu of flypaper, a shot of this taffy makes for a sticky situation. Good thing I came prepared for troublemakers."

"No! Exploiting my one weakness," Stinkfly cried, crashing to the ground. "My miserably idiotic characterization that turns me into a complete dumbass when I go almost any alien! Except Grey Matter and Four Arms. Depends on the episode."

It's called favoritism by the crew. You can look at Steven Universe for prime examples of how it can lead to major fuckups within the show itself when the pandering to the vocal fandom goes to far. We did get that enough times with Ben 10 through the years, didn't we? Just please, whatever the crew does, no more awkwardly forced romantic quadrangles. You can flanderize the Omnitrix all you want, PLEASE no more ham-fisted shipping bullshit shoved down our throats.

"I'll squish this bug good," said the clown guy on the tall stilts who was wearing a giant pair of shoes with cleats on them for whatever reason. Maybe since he was on stilts and it would help his footing on the grass. Or simply to murder people with in case the chance arose. "Thank goodness for fanfiction expanding some of our roles slightly because you'll never see any of us again." Or in any other fanfiction outside this one.

"I thought I wouldn't be seen in this show ever again but turns out there's an episode called Zombozo-Land. Good for me," said Zombozo, shrugging. "It's probably gonna be disappointing. But maybe not."

"Oh no, the Omni-whatsit is timing out during a crucial battle turning point," Stinkfly said dryly. "I must go for backup while I've got the chance. The musical cues in this show start and stop abruptly. Sounds kinda weird if you're paying attention. I doubt most of the audience is." He jumped into the crowd, spraying Gwen, Grandpa Max, and the Fab Three with fart goop before slamming face-first into the stairs. "Ow. I meant to do that."

"Gross! What smells like the bathroom of Chipotle in 90 degree heat?" Gwen choked. She screamed upon realizing Stinkfly's goo was soaking into her hair and clothing. The smell would never come out. "BEN, what are you doing?"

"Sorry about that," said Ben. "Anyway, you guys were all hypnotized by Zombozo's mind control gas and threw your money to him before I went Stinkfly in a failed attempt to slow his escape. Ha ha! Uh, I mean, sorry for your stolen property."

"Ben! Why didn't you stop him?" Gwen fumed, checking her pockets, now empty of all the hard earned chore money she once had.

"It's not my fault! I got there too late because of plot necessity," said Ben.

"Oh, whatever!" Gwen turned to Grandpa Max. "Us two 10 year olds better go stop the gang of psychotic armed and dangerous clown criminals while you old folks find a safe spot to cower in and you don't do anything heroic to upstage the female character whose role in this series has been greatly diminished to almost comical absurdity," she said with a fair amount of enthusiasm. She got up from her seat.

Ben put a hand out, blocking her path. He shook his head solemnly. "Vagina, Gwen," he whispered.

Gwen screamed with rage, stomping her tiny foot. "I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU DON'T HAVE SOMETHING GOOD GOING FOR ME IN SEASON TWO, I'LL...I'LL..." She broke into defeated sobs, knowing she couldn't finish the sentence.

"Sorry, Gwen. I wouldn't hold your breath on that one," said Grandpa Max, ushering her aside. "So. You, a helpless little girl, spunky sidekick and sometimes damsel in distress, stay here and find a safe space while we men...and 10 year old boy gifted with incredibly powerful and mysterious technology that turns him into multiple alien superheroes...go fight and do all the cool heroic things. Oh, and you can cheer us from the sidelines." Grandpa Max rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I FINALLY get to do something badass in this show."

"We all get to do something badass to prove we're not a bunch of useless old fogies," said Lester, the only one of the Fab Three with a major role so far. "For an extremely short period of time."

"Then we'll never be seen again," said Harry. "Probably."

"I can open my perma-closed eyes disconcertingly wide," said Bruce. "Surprise!"

"Eh, it's better than nothing. At least until Vilgax shows up. Who we know nothing about. Including me. Because I'm not part of a secret intergalactic police force. Probably. Now, let's go get 'em, Wolf Pack," Grandpa Max said.

They pulled their badminton rackets from nowhere one again and charged down the stairs, yelling with a lust for battle.

"This is so not fair," Gwen said, wiping her eyes. She sniffled, gaining audience sympathy. Maybe. It's a bit hard to like this version of Gwen. All she's really got going for her is overt cuteness. Her characterization is painful to endure.

Then again, everyone's is.

Ben put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, adorable spunky sidekick and occasional damsel. With the watch timed out I can't do anything cool for a while. So I'll helplessly stand here next to you and watch the old guys show off their amazing kung fu badminton skills. Ha ha, that makes no sense."

Zombozo's clowns caught the scent of perceived vulnerability wafting toward them. They turned around to see four old out of shape guys armed with badminton rackets challenging them to a fight.

"Are these guys serious?" said a clown before releasing a sinister chuckle.

"You're gonna dislocate a hip, old man," said another. He and his fellow thug clowns advanced toward the enemy with grins of gleeful malevolence. "If I don't dislocate it for you first." He raised his weapon and prepared to fire point-blank at the old man.

"Hit flash," Max yelled, smacking the weapon out of the clown's hand with his racket.

Another swipe of the racket landed right in the unfortunate clown's face, causing some actual cartoon violence for once. A tooth flew from his jaw and landed in somebody's beer cup seventeen feet away in the bleachers.

Being the apex predators they are, the Wolf Pack descended on their inferior clowny prey, tearing them apart swiftly, much to the audiences' mild shock.

"Holy shit, these old guys are stronger than they look!" yelled a clown seconds before Lester beat his face with a badminton racket.

"We were deceived by appearances," cried the stilts clown seconds before Bruce knocked his janky legs out from under him. He crashed to the ground. "Thank goodness this fall didn't break my neck."

"Good thing I'm wearing a diaper," said the adult-baby clown as he flew from the unicycle that Harry yanked out from under him with frightening force by using his cane. "It's not part of the costume eitherrrrrrrrrr!" He crash landed several feet away, spitting out his binky. He burst into heavy sobbing like the giant annoying baby he was inside.

"Whoa, they're actually pretty good for a bunch of smelly old weirdos with deteriorating bones," Ben said from the boring sidelines. "Unlike you, Gwen." He laughed while nudging her with his elbow. "Ha, get it, Gwen? Because your characterization sucks, hahaha!"

Gwen had to sit there and take the ongoing insults to her characterization in this show because she's in a parody poking fun of it. Sorry, Gwen. Sometimes I don't even have to play it up for laughs. It's just that bad.

"GO WOLVES," she screamed before covering her mouth with both hands. "I didn't mean to do that. I can't stop myself from being team overly enthusiastic cheerleader when the plot calls for it."

The Wolf Pack destroyed the rest of Zombozo's clown cohorts, leaving only him. The Wolves approached slowly, looks of vicious hunger upon their aged faces.

"It's not like they weren't all expendable anyhow," Zombozo said, unfazed by the group of badass elders stepping over the corpses of his fallen thugs. "I was gonna wait until we got back to the hideout, gas them, and take all the loot for myself. Good thing they're not awake to hear that!"

He broke into explosive maniacal laughter before speeding away from the group of crazy old men consumed by the bloodlust of their former youthful prime.

The Omnitrix signaled readiness, causing Ben to adopt a creepy douchebag smirk. "All right! Time to not be a useless loser reduced to a sidekick role. Thank you, penis!"

Gwen looked offended, yet unable to do anything about it. So she stood there stewing in her own helpless rage, taking her first steps toward womanhood.

Ben inflated to Canonbolt and made another terribly written punny line. "I say what they make me. Sorry, kids. And do they have to use the worst possible voices for these characters? I know it's meant to be super cartoony, but they're hamming it up to an unbearable level."

He jumped onto the field, landing in front of Zombozo.

"I wasn't paying attention and didn't see you change into another alien so I'll assume it's a coincidence these weird ugly alien superheros are showing up out of the blue back to back to try and stop me," said Zombozo in a bored tone before yawning. "Anyway, the old geezers didn't incapacitate my henchclowns for very long. That scene of them kicking ass doesn't contribute to a whole lot anymore." He snapped his fingers, siccing his clowns on the portly freak.

They lined up in formation that would make it easy for Canonbolt to knock them down like bowling pins, complete with comical sound effect. Again, the musical cues started and ended abruptly, leaving an awkward deafening silence in between.

"I see we didn't have much of an audio budget for this show either," said Zombozo. "Hard these days to book an orchestra to make decent atmospheric music like they did back when action-drama-superhero oriented cartoons were good and plentiful."

"It's not our fault! The network allotted 98% of the overall audio budget to Rebecca Sugar," Gwen whispered from her confinement in the bleachers.

"No!" Canonbolt yelled. "If we start breaking into song in this show, I am so out. No more cartoons with singing. I can't handle the stupid ear worms!" He finally took notice of the clown gang's vulnerable firing position. "Ha, you idiots shouldn't have done that," said Canonbolt before rolling up and striking them. "Bowling reference, in case you didn't get the joke."

"Will you just die already?" Zombozo smashed into Canonbolt with his car, sending him cashing through the wall. "Either that or stop talking. Your voice is horrible."

"Hey, at least I'm no Wildvine." Canonbolt stood up and rubbed his aching head-face-chest. "Anyway, I gotta stop getting conveniently distracted in order to let the bad guys get the drop on me." He rolled up and aimed for Zombozo. "Here's a foul for you, Bozo!"

"Time for me to peel out." Zombozo pressed one of the many buttons on his combat clown car, making banana peels shoot out the back. How convenient and silly. He drove around erratically, leaving a wide trail of peels. Canonbolt rolled into them and slipped off his path, smashing into another wall for the sake of forced comedy. Zombozo enjoyed seeing his enemy in pain, so it worked. At least someone laughed. "Now that's actually funny. Unlike many of the canonical jokes vomited up from the writer's room."

"It's a show for four year old children, you smug entitled trash clown. The writing is great if you look at it that way," Canonbolt said from his hole of embarrassing failure. "Ow. You'd think with this alien armor on, I wouldn't experience this much excruciating pain. A lot of it stems from mental anguish, I suppose."

"What a joke! Wehuhoohooahahaoohooo," Zombozo laughed. He pounded his fist on the dashboard, accidentally hitting one of the buttons.

" _Herbie? Is that you? Why didn't you call me back last Thursday?_ " said the familiar voice of Estelle Harris. " _Are you menacing the general public again?_ "

"Aw, mom! Hang on, I'm doing a job," Zombozo said. "I don't know why I installed that button."

" _You're wearing that clown outfit again, aren't you? You've had it for five years already. Why don't you buy a new outfit!_ "

"Because I like this one," Zombozo yelled. "Look, I'll call you back!"

The clowns got their second wind. A clown who we'll dub Punchy got in a cheap shot at Grandpa Max, knocking him to the ground. They closed in on the poor old geezers.

"What happened? We were winning," Grandpa Max groaned while Lester helped him to his feet.

"I dunno. It's like we were suddenly stripped of our unconventional prowess for the sake of the plot," said Lester.

"Stop! You can't severely endanger the elderly on a children's show," Gwen shouted, hoping to distract them from further maiming her eventual ride home. She felt an eerie presence behind her and turned to see an even crustier old geezer. A practical Methuselah. "Gasp! A new mysterious character has appeared!"

"Eyup," said the grizzled old man wearing a whistle around his neck. It read KEENE.

"Hey, you're Coach Keene. THE Coach Keene?"

"Eyup."

"Wow, you must be like a hundred. Maybe older. I mean, wow, how convenient that you showed up out of nowhere after you'd retired and all. Does that mean you're a new plot device?"

"Eyup. My boys need me to coach them back into action. Couldn't help but notice they were getting their butts whooped by some clowns. Ain't gonna have that on my record."

He blew his whistle, scaring the shit out of Gwen.

Meanwhile, Zombozo revealed the clown missile he secretly had inside the parade float of his own giant head. Surprise.

"Before anyone else can make any more bad puns, I'll gladly spare you all from your perpetual torment being trapped in this reboot with a messy but mercifully painless death," he said as he readied the missile.

"Oh no!" Gwen cried. "Zombozo totally did have a missile inside the creepy giant paper mache likeness of his own freakishly enormousness head! What do we do now?"

"I've got a play for that," said Coach Keene.

Gwen did a double-take. "Wait. You've seriously got a badminton play that can stop a giant clown head missile?"

"I do," he said, looking off into the distance. "They called me crazy because I created plays for loads of highly unlikely scenarios in the chance event they might occur one day. And that's how I became this university's greatest badminton coach." He waved his cane around. "Now who's crazy?"

Gwen took a few steps back.

Grandpa Max was busy whipping a clown with his racket.

"Please, stop! I can't feel my legs anymore," begged the helpless creature.

"Sorry. This is the only time I get to do something like this," said Grandpa Max. "Guess I got a little carried away." He hit the clown one last time for good measure. "It might be the only time I get to do it at all in this show." He smacked the clown one final time for real this time. "Aahhh, yeah. Feels good!" He kicked him.

"Not on my end," gurgled the bruised, bloodied clown.

"Tennyson, your form is all wrong. You need to keep your back straight while beating evil clowns from that angle."

Grandpa Max turned toward the voice, stunned to see his withered and ancient but still breathing badminton coach. "Coach Keene! What are you doing here?"

"Plot convience," he said. "Huddle the boys and prep for the Big Bad Wolf."

Grandpa Max inhaled loudly with shock. "Are you kidding? That play was forbidden for a reason, coach! It's too absurd!"

Coach Keene blasted his whistle in Max's face. "GO GET 'EM, WOLF PACK."

Grandpa Max shrugged. "Whatever. We need some convenient way to wrap up this story. Cartoonish absurdity works for me."

Filled with insane vigor and the nostalgia of his youth, Grandpa Max did the State U Wolf Howl, echoed by the rest as they picked Canonbolt up from his humiliating banana based defeat and helped him over to their coach.

"That was more Vitamin B-6 than I'll need in a lifetime," he groaned.

"You get to be the shuttlecock, rookie," said Coach Keene to Canonbolt.

"I'm surprisingly okay with this," said Canonbolt, wearing a depraved grin.

Grandpa Max pointed dramatically. "Time to wreck an unfunny monster clown in a really ridiculous way."

"Unfunny? I have a better grasp on humor than anyone in this show!" Zombozo turned around. A distressed look bloomed across his face. Is that his skin or makeup? We might never find out. Zombozo grabbed the sides of his comically enlarged head, shaking it in the face of Lovecraftian absurdity the likes of which none had ever witnessed and been left sane. Good thing he was already a psychotic monster clown. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

No.

Max's buddies had formed a HUMAN BADMINTON RACKET. With their OWN BODIES. And it had a giant stringed interior somehow. Where'd they get that from? What the fucking fuck, fuck a duck in a truck. What. WHAT. WHAT?

Max lifted them into the air. So he's got hidden strength there or this was for the sake of comedic weirdness? Also Lester can maintain an absolute rigidness of the body in order to be the handle of the giant human racket. Ha ha, what is going on here. Brain failing to grasp insane concept.

"THAT'S BULLSHIT," Zombozo yelled. "Also I hate badminton."

"Remember, it's just a cartoon," Grandpa Max said.

The familiar sporty theme of State U played. Coach Keene blew his whistle. Gwen sat on the sidelines, helplessly cheering, her body frozen in a semi-static position.

"All I can do is raise my arms slightly upward. I'm not animated to look anywhere else but a single direction," she groaned through her clenched teeth. "Help me, please."

"Good thing I didn't time out for the sake of the plot for so long or this whole plan wouldn't have worked," Canonbolt said before he rolled into the ball of doom and went spinning down the stadium stairs, toward the giant human racket Max swung at him. The hit sent him flying at his target. "THIS IS RIDICULOUSSSSSSSS!"

"You're telling me," Zombozo said seconds before he was flung in the air by the force of Canonbolt smashing into his evil parade float missile launcher to pieces, exploding it more harmlessly than if it had gone off regularly. I...don't even know. This is so weird. "MOMMMMMMMMMYYYYYY!" he screamed. He went sailing through the goal post so Ben could make a final stupid sports joke.

"Sports themed jokes! Did you get them all?" Canonbolt shouted. "Just kidding! No one cares."

And so Zombozo got thrown in a police car.

With the way the police act in this show and the fact that not a single prison has been shown, he'll be out in no time. Or not even make it to the prison before escaping. Like so many others who came back two to five episodes later.

"I'm coming back in Zombozo-Land," he reminded the non-existent audience. "Be sure to look for that inevitable parody, kiddies. Hwehehehehehwehhoohahaha! Uuugh, I need a drink."

The police car drove off.

"Wow, this was a bizarre episode," said Grandpa Max, wiping the sweat from his wrinkly old man brow.

"How was it any different from any other episode we've had so far," Ben asked.

Grandpa Max couldn't come up with an answer.

"Go Wolves!" Gwen screamed, leading them into another cheer that distracted everyone from having to think conflicting logical thoughts about the nonsensical ages 4-8 friendly cartoon world they were trapped in.

"You know, Gwen," said Ben. "I think I'm finally starting to get used to this."

"Yeah," she said, her left eye twitching. "Me too. Now let's go watch better versions of our beloved childhood shows to take our minds off the new generation of cheap low quality ADHD humor-centric corporate nonsense."

They ran screaming back to the Rustbucket.


End file.
